Chapter 3
At two in the afternoon, I got a call I'd been expecting.
Ethan.
He'd finally turned his phone back on.
"Jules," his voice was lower than usual, one of those rare moments when he actually sounded vulnerable.
It was the kind of tone he almost never used, the kind that made him seem less like Mr. Howard and more like Ethan.
Back then, hearing him like this would've made me melt.
"Yeah," I said.
"I can explain what happened last night, " Ethan began.
"Don't bother."
"Hear me out..."
"Ethan," I cut him off.
"I told you, I'm done. This isn't me being dramatic, and I'm not waiting for you to come running after me. I spent all night thinking it through, my mind's made up," I said.
There was silence on the other end.
I could hear his breathing grow heavier.
"You're really ending things over something an intern said, " Ethan began, disbelief in his voice.
"It's not about her," I replied.
I spoke slowly, enunciating each word. "It's about you.
"You stood there, with eight hundred people watching, and when she said she wanted to compete for you fair and square, you didn't say a thing.
"You even..."
I stopped, my throat tight. "You even looked at her like you were impressed."
"That wasn't approval, " Ethan explained.
"Ethan, whatever it was, you never spoke up in front of everyone and said, 'She's my fiancée. There's nothing to compete for.' You didn't. That's all there is to it."
There was a long silence.
Then he said, "I'll come over and talk in person."
"Don't bother," I said.
I glanced at the three suitcases already packed in the corner of the living room.
"I'm moving out today. The keys are on the entryway cabinet," I said.
"Julia." His voice suddenly shot up.
For the first time ever.
In three years together, I could count the number of times he'd ever lost his temper with me on one hand.
I moved the phone away from my ear.
Once his breathing calmed down, I said the last thing I had to say. "Your ring is in your suit pocket. Goodbye."
I hung up.
As the screen went dark, I saw my own reflection staring back at me.
My eyes were rimmed with red.
But not a single tear fell.
I wasn't going to cry.
The biggest regret of my life was all those tears I shed for nothing in this relationship.
The wheels of my suitcase rolled across the wooden floor, making that familiar clattering noise.
I headed for the entryway.
I left the keys on the cabinet.
Right beside it was a photo frame with a shot from the day we got engaged.
He was grinning from ear to ear, and I was leaning on his shoulder, smiling too.
I flipped the frame over.
I placed it face down on the counter.
Then I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of the place I'd called home for two years.
The door clicked shut behind me.
It was a soft click.
Very soft.
But it sounded loud.
*****
On the third day after I moved out.
I settled into the apartment Megan had helped me rent. It was a one-bedroom place, not big, but enough for me.
From the window, I could see the city skyline, and in the distance, the lights of Howard Tower.
I pulled the curtains shut.
In those three days, Ethan called me twenty-three times.
I didn't pick up a single one.
Sean showed up twice, but I turned him away at the intercom both times.
The second time, Sean sounded hesitant. "Ms. Lane, Mr. Howard... He hasn't been sleeping much these past few days."
"That's not my problem anymore," I said.
"He asked me to tell you about what happened that day..."
"Sean.
"If he can't come himself and has to send his assistant to deliver the message, it means this isn't important enough for him, his schedule comes first. I can accept that."
There was a ten-second silence on the intercom.
"I understand," Sean said.
Then he left.
After that, I had no clue what he actually told Ethan.
But after that, the calls turned into texts.
They all said pretty much the same thing.
Ethan texted: [Come back.
[If you don't pick up, I'll come find you.
[Julia, how long are you going to keep making a scene?]
Making a scene.
He actually called it that.
I stared at the text and let out a bitter laugh.
I scrolled up through our chat history.
All the way to the very top.
The first message he ever sent me, three years ago: [Are you free tonight? Let's grab dinner.]
Three years' worth of conversations followed.
Scrolling through, you could literally see how things changed between us.
At first, he was all over me, warm, attentive, always checking in. But as time went on, you could literally see the curve: his messages got shorter, more businesslike, and eventually, he just stopped replying altogether.
In the last three months, he'd only started a conversation with me four times.
Three out of those four times, he just wanted me to handle something for him.
I closed the chat and deleted the conversation.